


The Northerner

by SimplyLucia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 1: A Game of Thrones, F/M, Game of Thrones References, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Prompt Fill, Romance, SanSan Russian Roulette, Sandor is a Northerner, Winterfell, and it changes a lot of things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 14:57:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5131796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplyLucia/pseuds/SimplyLucia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt by Mullu: Sandor is a man of the North. (You can either place it in Winterfell or have Sandor accompany the Starks to King's Landing.)</p>
<p>"Northmen are known as a straight-forward, hardy, tough breed who hold the comforts of the south in disdain." - A Wiki of Ice and Fire</p>
<p>I felt like the best way to fill this prompt was to go back to the beginning of the books, so this ficlet is a AGOT AU and the scene takes place when Eddard Stark, the new Hand of the King, is about to head South with his daughters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Northerner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mullu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mullu/gifts).



> This is the extended version of my prompt fill for the SanSan Russian Roulette.  
> Not edited: read at your own risk... If you find a mistake, let me know and I'll do my best to fix it.  
> Comments are welcome!

Nothing could prevent Sandor from thinking his liege lord, Eddard Stark, was making a tremendous mistake. Behind him, the clatter of armors and the chitter-chatter of knights filled the courtyard as he swept the stables and its thatched roof one last time. He sighed and looked up at the grayish clouds; a raven circled the busy yard, croaking in the most ominous way. The royal party was about to leave Winterfell, Lord Stark and his daughters in tow. A part of the Stark household would follow Lord Eddard, Sandor being one of the warriors chosen to ride South.

_King’s Landing. The rotten capital of the Seven Kingdoms,_ he mused.He clenched his jaw then shoot a glare at the innocent stable boy whose only crime had been rubbing down Sandor’s horse before their departure. Saying this trip South didn’t thrill Sandor was an understatement: he pissed on the Southerners’ refinement, on their good manners and on their fake smiles. If some members of the Stark household were overjoyed because their lord was the new Hand of the King, he dreaded a long stay in the capital.

“Father said I can ride a horse if I want!”

A shriek and a tug at his sleeve announced Arya’s arrival. The little one was so excited about the journey South he didn’t feel like dampening her spirits. _What good can come of it, if I tell her how I fucking hate those Southrons?_ His half-burnt lips turned in a twisted smile. “So you’ll ride a horse? How well will that sit with Lady Sansa?” he asked.

As expected, Arya rolled her eyes. “ _Lady_ Sansa will travel with the Queen and Myrcella, of course, in some stupid litter. She will spend the journey talking with them instead of breathing fresh air and enjoying the landscape. She won’t see _anything_!” Arya always informed him about Sansa’s mood and whereabouts, thus nurturing his obsession for her. Sandor knew the consequences if his lord realized his most trusted warrior, a Northerner, far too low born, coveted the prince’s betrothed. _Because it’s lust more than anything, right?_ Lord Eddard would send him away, therefore depriving him of the only place he could call ‘home’, but more than anything, Sandor feared the look of bitter disappointment and disgust he would read in his lord’s gray eyes. He wasn’t sure he could take it. He wasn't sure he could live without seeing Sansa.

“I’ll ride with you, Sandor,” Arya went on. “We’re going to see so many wonderful things during this trip!” Jumping from foot to foot, Arya ignored his less than enthusiastic expression. The moment she spotted a stable boy with the horse she used to ride, she completely forgot about Sandor and ran away.

Turning to the center of the courtyard, Sandor had ample opportunity to observe the Southrons he despised so much: the knights, full of themselves, strutted around while the few ladies accompanying Queen Cersei and her daughter Myrcella gossiped a bit further. Garish banners coming from all Westeros - with the exception of Dorne - flapped in the wind.

Standing close to the knights who protected him, Prince Joffrey was deep in conversation with Sansa; wrapped in a thick cloak dyed in blue, she drank in the prince’s words, seemingly indifferent to what happened around her. Delighted by her suitor’s attentions, Sansa blushed prettily, while holding Lady’s leash and preventing her direwolf to annoy the royal offspring. Sandor narrowed his eyes at the prince. Just like the direwolf, Sandor couldn’t trust the blond prick for whom Sansa tried new hairstyles every day. _Will she forget she’s a Northerner?Will she forget me too, once in King’s Landing?_ If she did, if the capital infatuated Sansa and changed her, whatever had grown inside him since he knew her, since she fondly looked at him, would be crushed.

From afar, he saw Sansa laughing at some royal jape, her red locks bouncing in the process. What could a Northerner like him do, confronted with this fair-haired prince who apparently embodied Sansa’s dreams? Thanks to Arya’s indiscretion, he knew Sansa gushed about Joffrey while all her siblings observed the prince with wariness. His fingers curled into balled fists before his eyes fell on the sword hanging at his side. _I can protect her. Make sure no one hurts her out there. Keep her safe._

With his ceremonial armor - a pretty thing, gilded and chiseled, which fascinated the small folk - the prince looked good on horseback but was unable to defend Sansa, if need be. He didn’t even know how to fight: Sandor had witnessed it when Joffrey had crossed swords with Robb and he had laughed up his sleeve when Eddard’s eldest son had easily defeated the prince.

Sansa would always turn to him because she knew his worth. She had seen Sandor fight in the courtyard and she knew his feats of arms. She might put away her old dresses and favor the Southern fashion, she might disdain the Northern way of life but she would not forget the stories Northerners whispered about the mighty Hound, by candlelight.

Suddenly, Lady showed signs of restlessness and it became more and more difficult for her young mistress to control her. Sansa tried to appease the direwolf by patting her head and burying her fingers in the thick gray fur. In vain: Lady pulled harder on the leash, lead her mistress toward Sandor and Sansa yielded, much to Joffrey’s surprise. Eddard Stark’s daughter came closer, guided by Lady first, then determinedly walking toward him. A quick glance at Joffrey confirmed the prince had already turned around and walked away, most likely disconcerted by the unceremonious way his betrothed had left him. A smile graced Sansa’s lips as she took in Sandor’s boiled leather jerkin and breeches. “I feel safer because you’re riding with us, Sandor,” she confessed, craning her neck. Only two feet of space separated them.

Not a muscle in his face moved as he bored into her blue eyes, but his heart skipped a beat. _I’ll do that. I’ll keep you safe._

 


End file.
